


Songbirds and Honeybees

by agent_cupcake



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Mirror Sex, Praise Kink, Reader is Not My Unit | Byleth, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29634303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_cupcake/pseuds/agent_cupcake
Summary: yandere prompt number 15 - “If you leave me, I will die!”“That is why I do not care to wait," Ferdinand said. "I have wasted enough time refusing to answer the call of my heart. Since the moment I laid eyes upon you, I have known that we were meant to be together.” There was a type of passion in his eyes you didn’t quite understand. Lust was the closest approximate, but it was more frantic than lust, more intense than mere affection. It coiled low in his voice, you could feel it in the way his fingers dug into your hips. You didn't think you were going to get out of this. Did you want to?He said it was okay, you needed to believe that this was okay.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	Songbirds and Honeybees

“Getting married? You and Ferdinand?” Dorothea asked. You didn’t respond at first, caught off guard by her unexpectedly harsh reaction. Your eyes nervously flicked around the table the two of you shared to ensure nobody else was listening in on the private conversation. Oblivious to her minor outburst, the restaurant-going elite continued on chattering and eating and drinking. With all the grace of a seasoned actress, Dorothea composed her shock a moment later, adopting a more measured voice. “Isn’t it a bit… soon for that kind of thing?”

You bristled at the question. It wasn’t at all the response you had hoped for from her. Although she was the owner of your opera company, Dorothea was more of a friend and mentor than anything else. She had been the one to introduce you to your soon-to-be husband in the first place. “Yes,” you said, just a touch too defensively. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“No, of course not!” she responded quickly, waving her hands in a motion as if to soothe you. “I’m just… surprised. You and Ferdie haven’t known each other very long.”

“It’s been long enough,” you said, self consciously messing with your engagement ring. Since you and Ferdinand hadn’t announced your engagement to the wider public as of yet, you weren’t quite in the habit of wearing it all the time, but the night out in Enbarr seemed to be an intimate enough event to slip it on. Ferdinand himself had suggested it. “We love each other. That’s more than enough of a reason for me, why should we wait?”

Dorothea’s green eyes were piercing. “He’s the one who said that, isn’t he?” she asked, but there was a finality to the question that made it sound far more like a statement. She was right, more or less. You squirmed, unable to meet her gaze.

“I love him,” you said. “And I can’t stay with Mittelfrank forever, I have to think about the future, too. You taught me that.”

“Yes, of course. I understand that. I’m happy for you,” Dorothea told you, her voice utterly sincere. “I’m happy for Ferdie, too. He’ll never find a girl as wonderful as you.” The words lapsed into silence, unfinished.

“But…?” you finally prompted.

“You should take some time to think about this,” Dorothea recommended. “Alone. Getting married is a big decision, one that you can’t take back. If you love each other, there’s no rush, right?”

“What are you _really_ trying to say?” you asked, the question coming out more snappy than you meant it. Unfortunately, you couldn’t help but think she was right. At the very least, you had already questioned why he was so eager to get married, only to be shut down with Ferdinand’s reassurance. It was all right. He kept telling you that it was. It was. 

“I’m not trying to upset you,” Dorothea said carefully. “Please, take it from someone who knows and loves you both, okay?” She hesitated, folding her hands before continuing. “If Ferdinand were any other guy, I’d tell you to get away from him as soon as possible.”

“What?” you asked, your stomach twisting at the grim threat of that sentiment. Guilt squeezed your heart, urging you to look around the restaurant. The men had gone off for drinks or to play cards or some other thing just to get them away from the table, you had asked Ferdinand to be the one to tell Dorothea the good news. It was meant to be good, at least.

“Since it _is_ Ferdie, I have hope that it’ll work out in the end.” Dorothea sighed. “Still, you need to think about this rationally. There’s a lot more on the line than just your heart. Ferdie… Ferdinand is intense. Not only that, he’s very passionate. Those things are good in a relationship! But too much intensity and passion is only romantic in opera, not in real life. In real life, you could get hurt.”

“You think he’ll hurt me?” you asked bluntly, hoping to find some humor in the question. Ferdinand would never hurt you, that was unthinkable. Laughable. Dorothea didn’t so much as smile.

“Not on purpose, no,” she conceded. “Don’t you think something about it all seems a bit off? I’m no expert when it comes to romance—believe me, I know that—but I _have_ known Ferdie for the better part of a decade. I have never seen him like this. Sometimes love can bring out the best in us, but sometimes it does the opposite. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’m not so sure that this is healthy... for either of you.”

“You’re wrong,” you said, but the words felt hollow and cold in your mouth because as badly as you wanted to be mad at Dorothea, there was no malice in her eyes. Only concern. You shook your head, unable to look at that expression anymore. Could she somehow see the doubt that had slowly been infecting your heart? The doubt you ignored because you loved Ferdinand, which was the only thing you didn’t doubt. You adored him, and he adored you. But, like Dorothea pointed out, you and Ferdinand hadn’t known each other all that long. Most of the time you spent together had been spent under his guidance trying to learn the proper way to sit or eat or dress or move or speak, teaching you to exist in his world as a lady. Changing you from a soloist to a socialite. And you loved him for that too, felt eternally grateful and honored for the chance. But that was offset by this terrible, creeping concern about what Ferdinand saw when he looked at you, what he felt that stirred such a desperate excitement in those honey colored eyes of his. What it was about your relationship that kept him so utterly preoccupied with what you did or where you went or who you spoke to or how you dressed, evidence of the vice-like grip he’d formed around your life.

But he said it was all right. You fiddled with your engagement ring again, knowing that it was a bad habit he disapproved of, and told yourself that it was all right.

“I really appreciate you trying to look out for me, Dorothea,” you told her, your disquiet calmed into something mostly sincere. “But I think this is the best thing for me. We’re going to announce it officially tomorrow night. After that, I’m going to go with him to Castle Aurboda so he can tend to his territory.”

She said nothing, searching your face for a long moment, but she finally nodded. “As long as you’re happy, that’s what matters,” Dorothea told you. “Please think about what I’ve said, though. And if you need anybody to talk to-”

“You’ll be the first to know,” you finished for her, managing a weak smile.

As is on some unseen cue from on high, the men chose that exact moment to return. Dorothea’s expression switched instantly, her smile radiant. “I was wondering if maybe you boys had gotten lost somewhere,” she said. “We were about to organize a search party.”

“I challenged the esteemed Duke Aegir to a hand of cards,” Dorothea’s date said. Then he winced. “I almost feel _bad_ for how easy it was to win.”

Ferdinand smiled good-naturedly, not at all ruffled by the comment. “Unfortunately, playing cards is not one of my many talents. Nonetheless, I feel as if I learned many important things tonight. For example, I should not carelessly accept a challenge from you,” he said as he sat down, getting a light laugh from the other two. Ferdinand looked at you, kissing your cheek in a way that probably pushed social boundaries. “I hope you were not too lonely in my absence.”

You blinked away the glaze from your eyes, trying very hard to smile as Dorothea had done. Unfortunately, you found it hard to get back into things the rest of the night, your thoughts utterly preoccupied with the conversation and nerves no matter how Dorothea or Ferdinand tried to pull you back in.

By the time you returned to the boarding house you’d lived in over the past two years, your nerves were completely shot. You prepared yourself for bed in a half-hearted way, unfocused and stiff. It was late, you thought, although the moon wasn’t out so you had no way to be sure. Clothes laid out in a mess across your room, things you were packing up so you could leave with Ferdinand to return to Aegir territory the next night. The fancy ball gown he’d gifted you for the party before then was hung up in the closet, a splash of color that your gaze inevitably found itself drawn to. You should have finished packing, but the idea kind of made you feel sick inside. Instead, you sat at your desk with your journal, trying to figure out a coherent way to organize your thoughts in words.

_Knock knock._

Hearing the sharp little taps against your door was a surprise. You doubted your ears for a moment before the sound repeated, a bit louder. Some part of your mind warned of danger, the part that had grown up on the streets. The other part knew those concerns were silly. You were no longer in a place with ruffians and cutthroats around every corner. The boarding house for singers and dancers was about as secure as any armored keep in the Empire. Still, anxiety teased your heart to a steadily rushing beat as you crossed your small quarters to open the door. Whoever it was knocked again, urging you to twist the doorknob and peek through the small crack, keeping your body hidden behind the door.

A sharp line of light streamed from your room and illuminated a slice of Ferdinand standing in the hall. A flipped strand of strawberry blond hair over his forehead to one eye to the corner of his mouth to a strip of his white shirt, trousers, and boots. He smiled and you felt your shoulders relax, allowing the door to open a bit more.

“Hello,” you greeted him uncertainly, confused and more than a little curious. Cautious, too, now that the surprise had abated. He most certainly did not belong here.

“I hope I did not wake you,” he said as if the thought had only just occurred to him. His eyes weren’t subtle as they moved down your figure, taking in your wildly informal nightgown.

“No,” you responded, trying not to seem self-conscious. Noblewoman’s nightgowns were about as covering as anything else you could wear, it wasn’t like it mattered much. But somehow it did and you cleared your throat, refusing to become flustered. “Is something the matter?”

“Ah, well, not in particular…” Ferdinand responded awkwardly.

“You should come in, before anyone sees you,” you said when he didn’t elaborate, although your anxiety was becoming worse.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I would hate to be a bother. I am afraid I allowed the time to escape me, I did not even think of how late it had gotten.”

“No, it’s fine,” you responded, stepping aside as an invitation. Ferdinand smiled gratefully as he came in, passing you with a short whirling whiff of his cologne. Even dressed casually, there was an immaculate sense of composure to the man.

“I don’t think you should be here,” you said doubtfully, shutting the door behind you with a quick glance through the dark hall. Empty, of course, although you had reason to trust that analysis. Men were not allowed here. Even if others might allow a breach of etiquette for a man like Duke Aegir, the matron certainly would not. “I mean, if someone sees you, that could be really bad.”

“Rest assured that I have taken every precaution,” he said. “Nobody will ever know I was here." You expected him to expand upon that assurance, but he didn’t, looking around that the half-packed mess of your room instead. “Besides, you will be leaving soon. I am certain they will not punish you on your last night staying here.”

“Is there a reason you’ve come?” you asked in a would-be casual voice, trying to ease your nerves. The two of you had been alone before, but never like this. Was that strange? You were engaged, it shouldn’t have been uncomfortable. But it was. Even if the tension was all in your head, it was there. It had been there, growing and growing until you felt sometimes like you were choking on it. Even now, in the relative safety of your personal quarters, it made you tense. Especially now, with the conversation between you and Dorothea so fresh in your head.

“Oh, yes, of course! I took a stroll after we parted and found myself accosted by a very insistent flower peddler. It is a bit early in the year, but,” Ferdinand said, pulling a small bunch of white roses out from behind his back and holding them to you, “for you, my love.”

“Thank you,” you said belatedly, taking the flowers from him. They smelled sweet, a reminder of the many garlands you’d woven during Garland Moon. But they were also a reminder of the fact that you were a soon-to-be bride. White garlands were absolutely essential to every wedding. 

“That is not all, though,” Ferdinand admitted. “I would… I would very much like it if you and I could talk. If you are not busy, of course.”

“Talk,” you repeated, looking up from your flowers. “Um, well… No, I’m not busy. Why don’t you sit?” You rushed over to the desk to quickly shut your journal. It bled the ink-shaped words attempting to articulate feelings you didn’t understand. They spoke of a discomfort that came as a steady, cold trickle of uncertainty down your spine and into your gut. It welled up in the quiet moments between the frantic courtship, the moments when he was not around to soothe your concerns. Dorothea’s words, too. They were rational, were they not? Somehow you felt frightened to think that he’d read what you’d written, so you shoved it into the top drawer of your desk, slamming that closed as well. 

If Ferdinand found the behavior odd, he didn’t point it out. 

“Sorry, I don’t have much for seating,” you said. The desk chair and bed were all that you needed, really. After all, why would a young lady entertain guests in her bedroom?

“This will suffice. Thank you,” Ferdinand said gratefully, sitting on your desk chair while you found a place for your flowers. Luckily, you did have a vase handy on your beside. Ferdinand was quite fond of gifting you flowers. Done with that, you perched on the foot of the bed.

“So...” you said into the silence he didn’t immediately fill, a thousand thoughts rising to the forefront of your head. Looking at him, glowing and golden in the mundane candlelight of your room, you were struck by his beauty. A genuine prince charming, just like from an opera. Kind, sweet, gentle Ferdinand.

“I could not find it within myself to sleep without speaking to you first,” Ferdinand said after a moment of collecting his thoughts. “Tonight, your behavior was strange. You seemed withdrawn. Unhappy, even. I must know the reason why.”

“I was… I am tired,” you responded, avoiding his eyes with that blatantly tepid answer.

“I am afraid I cannot accept that is the only reason,” he responded. “It was only after I left that you began acting strangely.”

You met his eyes, the conversation with Dorothea that you’d played on a loop in your head returning. You could tell him, but a part of you doubted that it would be that easy. Why? Why did it frighten you? It shouldn’t have, you trusted him. You loved him.

“Has something happened?” Ferdinand asked.

You shook your head mutely, trying to think of a way to cobble together the words to explain what you felt. Dorothea had _warned_ you of something. Of him. Of his intensity, his passion. 

“Have I done something wrong?” Ferdinand pushed when you didn’t answer.

“No,” you said with certainty, looking up to meet his eyes.

"Did Dorothea do something?" he asked. “She is a treasured friend, but I have some experience with her cutting tongue. I doubt she meant anything by it, she is-”

"It wasn’t her," you said before he could continue.

Ferdinand hesitated at your sharp interjection. "Are you unwell?"

"I’m fine."

“I do not understand," he admitted, frowning. “it is obvious that there is something the matter with you. Why will you not tell me?"

You felt your heart sink low into your stomach. Mutely unsure of how to respond to that heartfelt plea and Ferdinand’s clear distress, a dozen explanations popped into your head. Guilt filled your chest. So did more of that discomfort. Why was he pushing you so hard on this? Why couldn’t he see that you didn’t want to talk? “You haven’t done anything. It’s...” you said, “It’s… it’s nothing like that.”

“But there is something,” Ferdinand confirmed. “As your betrothed, it is my duty to share your burdens, whatever they may be. Perhaps I could help, even. There is nothing I would not do for you. I would find a way to capture a star from the sky for you if that is what you desired!”

Those words, a reminder of his devotion and affection, landed like a punch in the stomach. You shook your head, nearly choking on the words and the rush of shame they filled you with. He was so _sweet_. So _caring_. So _kind_. How could you even think that there was something wrong? How could you deny him after everything he had done for you? A large part of you wanted to give it up, to cast aside your doubt. But you’d already gotten this far, you were sure that Ferdinand would push you until he got the truth. 

“It’s about me,” you finally said, unable to meet his eye. “Us.”

“What about us?” he asked after an awfully discordant beat of silence. His question was sharp, his voice losing some of its tenderness. It was subtle, but surprising nonetheless.

“Don’t you think we’re moving too fast?” you asked, softer than you intended in reaction to his tone.

“Too fast?” Ferdinand asked, wearing his confusion without pretense. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“We haven’t known each other very long,” you said, trying to be rational yet sounding uncertain. “It’s not like we have any reason to rush, right? So I was thinking, maybe we could… Take things slower…”

“Have I done something to make you feel pressured?” Ferdinand asked, earnestly concerned. More than concerned. He looked panicked, almost. Distressed.

“This isn’t because of you,” you said. “I just don’t want to be reckless, there’s too much at stake.” Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for the next statement. Your hands were shaking, pressed flat against your thighs. “I think I should stay here rather than return to Aegir territory with you tomorrow.”

“You want to leave me?” Ferdinand asked, his voice going flat, the hollow before the hurt.

“No, that’s not what I said,” you told him, stunned that he’d instantly jump to that conclusion. “I could follow behind you in a week or so, just to give us a bit of time to figure out how we truly feel.”

“So it is your feelings,” Ferdinand continued doubtfully. “Was it a lie when you told me that you love me?”

“No,” you responded defensively, almost instinctively reacting to that accusatory question. “No. I wasn’t lying. But I… I don’t think it’s a good idea to just rush into something so… so permanent. There’s more to marriage than just love.”

“That is not true at all,” Ferdinand said. The dark sound in his voice was gone, assuaged by your quick cover as if it had never been there at all. He stood up and grabbed your hands, holding them in his while standing above you. Haloed in light, he looked nearly divine. “In fact, love is the only thing that matters in a marriage. It transcends the differences between nobility and commoner, it moves the hearts and minds of all who feel its radiant embrace. Have we not proven that to be true? Our differences, though there are many, have never gotten between us. Please, do not allow them to do so now. I know that you are anxious, but surely that is a natural reaction to the yet unknown future.”

“You don’t understand,” you said, trying to pull your hands from his. He either ignored your protest or was genuinely too caught up in the moment to be aware, rubbing circles on your skin with his thumbs.

“I do,” Ferdinand said. “So let us find a solution that suits us both. Together.”

“I told you my solution,” you said, feeling a soft spark of panic in response to his urgency.

“I do not think that separation could possibly be the only solution to your concerns,” Ferdinand said. In a frantic little movement, he shook his head, obviously trying to collect himself. “Would it not be worse to do something now to pull us apart and regret it later?”

The pleading expression on his face was too much, let alone the heartbroken tone of his voice. And it would have been easy to let it all drop, to give in and allow yourself to forget all of the silly things you thought when you were alone because it made sense. It wasn’t like you particularly enjoyed being alone.

“Being absolutely sure that this is right _would_ be better in the long run,” you told him, forcing conviction into your tone.

“I am quite sure that this is right. I love you,” Ferdinand said with refreshed enthusiasm, his hands tightening around yours almost painfully. “I want you. I-I need you. Now that we are together, I cannot fathom a life without you.” He let out a trembling breath before continuing, his voice softening “I know your heart. It is for that reason that I can say with certainty that it beats to the same time as my own. Surely you can feel that as strongly as I.”

This time, you didn’t respond. What could you possibly think of to say? He wasn’t arguing the solution to the problem, he was insisting that there was no problem.

Ferdinand, clearly put out by your silence, continued, “Throughout all of the many wondrous things that I have experienced in my life, none of them compare to when you agreed to be my wife. That night, you told me of your dream, the one wish you have held dear to your heart since you were a child. Do you not remember?”

“I do,” you agreed, your voice hushed.

“To love and be loved,” Ferdinand recalled warmly. “Never in my life have I heard such a simple and noble goal. When you told me that I could have wept for the beauty of it. Do you not remember?”

“Of course I do,” you agreed again.

“So it follows that if everything you have told me is the truth, then to leave me would be to reject your dreams.”

“I’m not trying to leave you, I just...” you began, but the words fell apart as quickly as they came. It was the way he looked at you. That pleading desperation. You swallowed them down as something cold sunk into your heart, slow and heavy. He was so perceptive to your feelings, that was an aspect of him that you’d always been attracted to, but not right now. Ferdinand didn’t see what you felt, he saw a regular display of nerves.

And maybe he was right. Maybe Dorothea was wrong. After all, she didn’t know the details of your relationship, she didn’t know the feelings in your heart or what it felt like to be looked at like Ferdinand looked at you. She was always a bit too hard on nobility, after all.

“I wasn’t trying to leave you,” you said. “I couldn’t even think of such a thing.”

Ferdinand let out a heavy sigh of what could only be called relief, finally letting your hands drop so he could sit on the bed beside you. Right beside you, enough that you could feel the weight and warmth of his body. “It is only natural to feel anxious. But we will figure this out together,” Ferdinand said. “I admit that I, on occasion, feel anxious about our future as well. But, when we are married, everything will work out. You will see.”

“You’re right,” you agreed, hoping that would be the end of this uncomfortable discussion, hoping that it would be enough to convince yourself that you believed him. “I’m sorry.”

Ferdinand smiled fondly, surprising you by gathering you against him in a tight, intimate hug. With just the thin cotton of his buttoned shirt, there was little barrier between you and the warmth of his chest. Although you stiffened, your body nearly instinctively curled against his, allowing you to feel the vibrations of his words when he spoke. “Please, do not apologize. I am glad you were able to voice your concerns so we could settle this now.” He paused before speaking again, his arms tightening around your waist, one hand woven into your hair to hold your head flush to his chest. Ferdinand spoke with such genuine adoration that it felt like both an attack and a promise. “I love you.”

The oath hit you hard, a buzzing sense of heat and nerves. He had said it before, of course. Many times. But not quite like that, not so intensely and honestly. “I love you too,” you mumbled, half stifled with the way your face was squished against him. Ferdinand sighed contentedly.

“I never expected that three simple words could bring me such joy,” he said. “Sometimes the feeling is so intense it takes my breath away. Even now, I… I feel a little dizzy. Will you say it again?”

“I love you,” you told him again, your arms rising to wrap around his shoulders so you could settle more comfortably into his lap. Ferdinand shuddered. Then he released you somewhat so he could cup your chin, bringing your face to his. Ferdinand’s eyes were nearly manic in their intensity. You understood something you had been dancing around, what Dorothea had alluded to. Ferdinand wasn’t going to let you go. Sweet, chivalrous Ferdinand looked at you with eyes that promised a million things. But, most of all, they promised his love. And somehow, _somehow_ , that seized you with its innate sort of perversion. It sunk deep and burrowed to your bones, warm and hot and excited and nervous and uncomfortable. You wanted to be loved, of course, you did. That was human nature. Ferdinand loved you, and that could only be considered a good thing.

So you forcibly ignored any lingering doubt and allowed him to kiss you, pressing his lips to yours with all of that wound-up adoration and that was good because you wanted that affection. Wanted it, dreamed of it.

Ferdinand kissed you and you melted into the embrace, allowing yourself to be distracted. To forget. To allow your worries to fade away. That was how it always went with him.

It was all right. When you felt as if you weren’t close enough, you threw your leg over his lap. Everything was fine. When he slipped his tongue into your mouth, the borderline dominating act struck you with a fizzy buzz of surprised lust. This was how it was supposed to be.

Ferdinand smelled so good, spice and warm and woody. It was intoxicating, sweet. Even in the opera company, few other men were able to smell so consistently good as Ferdinand. Few other women, for that matter. When he groaned, you could feel it. In your mouth, your chest, your entire body reacted to the sound. Just as with everything else, Ferdinand was always so vocal about his responses. It was why he lost at cards, but you luxuriated in his reactions. And his body, you’d be a liar to say that it hadn’t been a factor in the way he’d lured you in. Firm and hard against your own, the muscles of his shoulders and arms and back shifting beneath his shirt and skin as you held on. Eventually, they gave up on finding a purchase there and sought out his hair. So _soft,_ your fingers catching on the wavy curls.

It wasn’t until he broke off to catch a breath, his hand creeping uncomfortably high up your thigh, that you were brought down from that high of sensation and scattered appreciation. You blinked a few times, trying to steady yourself of your dazed thoughts. And that, finally, brought you back to reality. The reality where you were breathing harshly, disoriented from the kissing, the touching, your desire. The reality of the obscene way you’d been sitting in his lap, your nightgown’s skirt riding up while you ground yourself against his leg with only the thin silk of your panties to separate the sensitive flesh from his clothed thigh. It felt good. Everything felt good, but that was wrong. Very wrong.

“Ferdinand,” you said, trying to stabilize yourself. Your heart thundered in your chest, pounding blood through your ears and blazing hot beneath your cheeks. “Wait… Is this… is this really okay?” Intimacy elsewhere was one thing, but intimacy in the isolation of your private room? That was entirely different. Even with your own personal tolerance for intimacy, a product of practically living on the stage, you could recognize the situation as it was. Sure you were engaged, but not married. It wasn’t something you had discussed, but you had sort of assumed Ferdinand was the type to want to wait until marriage.

“Of course it is,” he said. His cheeks glowing and expression tender. “We are in love, are we not?”

“Yeah,” you responded half-heartedly. That felt like an excuse. “But...”

“Besides, you are…” he began, his voice husky and strained, “You are very...” Whatever it was he intended to say, he didn’t finish, simply clearing his throat.

“I’m... sorry,” you said, shifting in an attempt to get off of his lap, to fight against his hold.

Ferdinand’s eyes opened, his hands instantly dropping to your hips to keep you from moving. “N-no!” he exclaimed. His cheeks were pink, his eyes wide. “It is just… you are very… wet,” he explained, his voice strained with a combination of what you thought was embarrassment and arousal. You were pretty sure he was right, you were shamelessly wet just from a little bit of kissing. Even after everything. Noticing your horrified reaction, he was quick to add, “It is no matter! I do not think it will stain. And even if it does, I do not mind in the least. But....” He cleared his throat again. “Perhaps we should stop for now.” He paused, his gaze searching as he considered his next words. “Un-unless you do not want to stop.”

That offer made your heart thump hard in your chest, beating at your ribs as you tried to recall the proper way to breathe. “No,” you told him, but the denial was hoarse and soft because you were half breathless and feverishly hot. Because your clit was pulsing with blood and your pussy was aching for something more, soaking your underwear in anticipation. Maybe you just wanted to be convinced. Even after everything, this whole uncomfortable conversation, you just wanted him to persuade you that it was okay. “I don’t know… Is that… It would be wrong, wouldn’t it?”

“I do not think so,” Ferdinand said, keeping you from moving. “I was thinking…” He swallowed hard. “It is obvious that you are aroused. Surely it would be preferable to accept my help rather than taking care of it on your own.”

Your entire body tensed up, discordantly nervous and turned on. He had a point with that. A very, very, very good point.

“Have I said something wrong?” Ferdinand asked when you didn’t answer, his eyes holding yours intently as he tried to figure out what you felt, rubbing his hands from your hips, down your thighs. They trailed back up, leaving chills in their wake. “We are in love... I love you dearly. I would not mind disregarding proprietary. Just this once, of course. Just to see that your needs are met. No more than that.”

“Do you even…” You felt your face twist in something like a wince, raw and hot embarrassed as the question formed. It wasn’t until right then that you realized you’d been going on the assumption that Ferdinand was just as inexperienced as you. More, maybe. At least you were savvy enough to have a functional education—and then some. A product of your life. He was a proper noble, a gentleman. Not to mention the fact that he was _Ferdinand_. “Do you know what to… how to…”

“I do,” Ferdinand replied. At your silent question, he sighed. “I hope you will not think poorly of me, but… But you will not be my first lover. During the war, I was in love. Knowing that we could die at any moment...” He frowned, dozens of tiny little melancholy expressions crossing his face.

“I’m... sorry,” you said softly, unsure of what else to say. You didn’t know Ferdinand that well, you realized. Not the way you should have. He hardly ever spoke of the war, of people he had known before. And being in love...

“My loss was due to my own incompetence, nothing more,” Ferdinand said. “That is why I do not care to wait, I have wasted enough time refusing to answer the call of my heart. Since the moment I laid eyes upon you, I have known that we were meant to be together.” There was a type of passion in his eyes you didn’t quite understand. Lust was the closest approximate, but it was more frantic than lust, more intense than mere affection. It coiled low in his voice, you could feel it in the way his fingers dug into your hips. You didn't think you were going to get out of this. Did you want to?

He said it was okay, you needed to believe that this was okay.

“You love me?” you asked, meeting his eyes.

“More than anything in the world,” Ferdinand said without hesitation, his eyes wide and honest.

You were shaking, conflicted beyond reason. But you didn’t want him to leave. You didn’t know what you wanted. It was all right. Ferdinand was safe, he was loving, he would take care of you. Swallowing hard, you nodded, knowing your face was burning and your eyes drifting anywhere and everywhere to avoid meeting his. “Okay.”

He grinned, petting your hair gently, caressing your cheek. To his credit, he was also shaking. Just slightly, a small tremor of his hand. It reminded you of when he had proposed. That night, his hands had been shaking too hard to get the ring on correctly. In the end, you had to do it for him. That was Ferdinand, your sweet and utterly human fiancé. This was okay.

“There is no need to be nervous,” Ferdinand told you. This time, your lips sought his. That was something you could do, that you could manage. Although you were more than willing to get lost in the kiss again, he wasn’t so patient. With an ease that spoke of a strength you so often forget he possessed, Ferdinand flipped you around so he was the one hovering over you.

“What are you doing?” you asked with a mostly stifled squeal, awkwardly trying to sit up from where you’d landed on your back.

“It is okay,” Ferdinand said, pushing up the skirt of your nightgown. You fought the urge to yank it back down, fisting your hands in the fabric instead. Ferdinand looked down at you, his eyes alight with excitement and his hair a mess, meeting your gaze with an earnest expression. “Please, relax. I will not hurt you.”

“I know,” you said, although you weren’t so sure you entirely believed that. It was more like, you weren’t sure what you would do if you didn’t believe it.

Blind to your internal conflict, his hands ran up your thighs, his fingers hooking beneath your panties to drag them off. The fabric was dark, soaked through. You could see the same stain on his pants, just like he’d said. That was evidence enough of your desire for him. For this. Wasn’t it? Mostly, it was just humiliating.

Carefully, patiently, Ferdinand’s attention on his actions entirely, he pulled your panties down your legs and off one foot so he could spread your thighs. It was a discomforting sensation, one that made you feel shy. More than shy. Finally, you could no longer resist the impulse to cover yourself, pushing down your nightgown as protection.

“Do not hide from me,” Ferdinand told you, pushing your hands away. The words were distracted, like he was only half concerned with your nerves, far more preoccupied with the sight of you splayed beneath him. Your anxiety was getting worse, your uncertainty growing. 

“I don’t know ab-” your objecting words cut off sharply when his fingers curiously sought out your dripping entrance. They didn’t push in as you expected but dragged upwards until they came to rest on your swollen clit. Your entire body jerked, a choked sound leaving your mouth. Ferdinand drew in a sharp breath in response, adjusting so he could use his thumb to rub against your clit instead. His eyes did not stray once from devouring the undoubtedly lewd image you made beneath him.

The intensity of the sensation made you realize that you weren’t far off from coming. With just a little more kissing and grinding, you probably would have found a way to get off on his leg like some sort of perverted animal, let alone this. Closing your eyes tightly, unable to watch him touch you, you tried to find some peace within yourself to get control over the rapidly tightening pulses of pleasure winding up in your core. It was fine when you were the one doing it, when you had control over your own pleasure, but now it was just... This was unbelievably embarrassing. This entire thing was just-

“S-stop,” you told him through a locked jaw, but the word was more of a whine than a demand.

“Stop? But this feels good, does it not?” Ferdinand asked, although he did slow down, alleviating some of the pressure. Still, each maddeningly little pass had you shaking, torn between wanting to make him stop and begging for more. Against your will and against reason, your hips bucked up into his touch, doing the begging where you could not. He laughed softly, dizzily. Cruelly removing his thumb altogether. “Please, speak to me,” he said patiently. “Allow me to hear your voice. How else will I know what you do or do not like?”

“I… I...” you stuttered, your eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving. It had been bad enough to feel like you had no control over yourself, now you had no control at all.

“Do you want me to touch you? Truly?” Ferdinand prompted indulgently, his thumb rubbing slowly _around_ your clit. Circling it, but denying you all the same. He was doing this on purpose. When you cracked an eye open, you could see that much from his expression.

“Yes,” you got out, hating the shame that surged up with the word. “Please, I do.” Although the admission felt awful to say, it did get him to pass his thumb absently over your clit, giving you just a taste of that pleasure. Somehow, that was better than nothing.

“So you do not want me to stop?”

“No,” you breathed out. “P-please don’t… Don’t st-ah-” you couldn’t even finish speaking before he rubbed direct and delicious patterns directly over your aching clit. The sound that slipped past your lips was too loud and entirely accidental, nobody would ever mistake it as anything other than a sound of raw and intense pleasure.

And he didn’t stop.

“Ferdinand, I’m… I…” It felt so good, but you couldn’t say that. What was it that you even wanted to say? You weren’t sure you could think so far ahead of yourself, too consumed with the pressing and urgent need to come.

“You are magnificent,” Ferdinand told you. “The sight of you like this makes me…” He let his shuddering exhale serve as punctuation to that thought. “I can… I will control my needs… But… There would not be any harm in tasting you. You would like that, would you not?”

Without waiting for confirmation, he dropped down between your legs, his silky hair tickling your inner thighs. The loss of pressure in conjunction with the shift of position made you tense up, but it didn’t matter ultimately with how wound up you already were. Ferdinand separated your outer lips with one hand so he could lick your exposed clit with the flat of his tongue. You moaned, your entire body arching up towards him.

It was a very good thing the girl next door had recently left the company. 

The silky wetness of his mouth was too much, too different, too _new_ , your body couldn’t decide what to do with the sensory information. Your fingers grasped at his hair, your thighs jerkily opening and closing, but Ferdinand was determined. In all things, but especially in this. Already, you had been close. But now it was just a matter of you trying not to suffocate him while you felt your inner muscles clamp down on the aching nothingness, your stomach tightening and thighs shaking and that hot and inevitable pull of orgasm building up in your core. It was wet and messy and intense and you had no way to avoid it, surrendering to the pleasure with a startled cry that might have been his name, half stifled by your awareness that you absolutely could not be too loud. Ferdinand’s enthusiastic tongue drew it out, the lapsing waves of white, wet heat flushing through your body and leaving you shaking and weak before he finally let up.

In the aftermath, the sound of your heavy breathing was overwhelming. The heavy thumping of your heart in your chest. Ferdinand sat up, but you didn’t dare look at him, your hands clasping over your face. What were you supposed to say now? Thanks? Did he want you to return the favor? He hadn’t _said_ that, but maybe it would be impolite not to offer?

“I noticed something earlier,” Ferdinand said, breaking the silence. Slowly, you let your fingers shift so you could look at him. A mess, his hair ruffled by your hands and his shirt undone to expose more of his flushed neck, sweat making the white fabric stick to his skin in a draw-droppingly appealing way.

“What’s that?” you asked, getting up with one arm beneath you.

“Your mirror,” he said, gesturing to the wall-mounted mirror to the right of your bed. If you looked, you’d be able to see your reflection. So you didn’t look. “Is there a reason you have it set to the wall in such a position?”

“There’s not really anywhere else to put one,” you said, gesturing vaguely to your small room. A moment later, you added, “It has scared me a few times. Especially being only half awake and seeing my own face staring right back at me.”

Ferdinand looked at it contemplatively. “I would like to try something. If you do not mind, of course.”

“Try wh-”

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you onto his lap without asking permission. The fabric of his trousers was rough against your bare thighs. But that wasn’t the point. The reflected image of both of you in the mirror was lewd and explicitly sexual. You felt as if you couldn’t look away. It was practically unbelievable. But it was you. You in the frilly, nightgown pulled down to expose far too much of your flushed chest, the skirt hiked up to expose your lack of underwear. You, looking flushed and hot and messy, looking like you’d already been ravaged.

“Your beauty is unparalleled,” Ferdinand said, drinking in your reflection not with lust, but with awe. Adoration, something that was practically reverent. You wondered if that made it better. “So delicate... I could compare you to the finest of porcelain... Yet, at the same time, you are so sweet that I should think you were made of spun sugar and honey.” He paused, an apologetic expression crossing his face. “But first… Please, allow me to apologize.”

“For what?” you asked softly.

“I… I must admit that I have longed for this moment for far longer than is decent. My thoughts have been, at times, quite deplorable,” Ferdinand winced, his regret obvious. “I have even given in to my desires a time or two, thinking of those indecent things. But I shall never succumb to such base acts again! Not now that I have you truly.”

That set your mind reeling, your stomach clenching with some of variety of discomfort you couldn't quite name as you considered what he would consider to be indecent. Before tonight, that would have been anything sexual. But now you weren’t so sure. Ferdinand really and truly as not who you expected and you wanted to be desired, but the idea was daunting. “It’s okay,” was all you could say. That made Ferdinand’s face light up in a smile. 

“I do not think I ever understood what it was to feel joy until I met you,” he said. “You fill my heart with such happiness that I can hardly bear it. I-” Ferdinand cut himself off, his arm tightening around your waist and pulling you into him, nose sliding from your hair to your neck, leaving soft kisses along the sensitive skin there. “I can hardly believe that you are mine.”

The hand not holding you dropped between your legs, slipping past your labia to spread your arousal over the heated flesh in a teasing, promising way, reminding you of your earlier pleasure. Willingly or not, your entire body shuddered at the feeling, a reaction matched by the man behind you. Ferdinand’s cock was growing hard and insistent beneath you, confined by his trousers. He wanted this. _You_ wanted this, just as much as him. Maybe not you, the you in your head that writhed in protest, but whatever ‘you’ that existed in your reflection. The girl who was watching herself be pleasured. You burned with lust, your inner muscles clamping down on the aching emptiness in anticipation. He said he wouldn’t go that far, though. You wondered if that was a good or a bad thing.

Then Ferdinand focused his touch right against your clit and you didn’t wonder anything at all. It wasn’t the same as his tongue, the pressure was more firm, more intent. The calluses on his fingertips were rough, well coated with your arousal. The tight little circles he rubbed right against that bundle of nerves made you squirm in his grasp, tensing up all over again as he wound you up. So easily now that you’d already gotten off once. You moaned and Ferdinand forcibly ground you against his clothed erection, a helpless, breathy sound leaving his lips and splaying against your neck.

When he slipped two fingers into you, the intrusion made you gasp, nearly jumping out of his arms with surprise. But Ferdinand kept you pulled tight against him, your legs pinned by the way he’d caught your ankles and pried them open with his own legs. He watched from behind you as his fingers delved in and out of your dripping pussy, continuing to tease your clit with his thumb. You had experimented once or twice but usually found that your own fingers weren’t enough to do much for you. His were. Longer and thicker, Ferdinand curled them with each pumping thrust in a way that felt nothing short of breathtaking. There was something horribly fascinating about watching them disappear into you, an arousing preoccupation with an act you knew to be innately wrong.

Squirming, gasping, you writhed in an attempt to get some leverage to get away, or to get more, or to express the cresting heat of pleasure. But he held you tightly against him, giving you no refuge from the image reflected or the growing intensity.

“You are a creature of… of heavenly beauty. Look at how you glow for me! There is nothing and nobody in the world that could be counted as your equal,” Ferdinand said, his voice breathless. You peered through your lashes at the sight of yourself, your legs spread wide and his hand working furiously between them. The ring on your left hand twinkled in the dim light, gripping his arm as if it would offer some stability. But there was more. Not because he was right, you doubted the obscene display of your body could be counted as glowing—shining with sweat, pink and red with a full body flush, and responding eagerly to his touch—but because it was all for him. Because of him. Because, even in nothing more than a reflection, it was even lewder than the most graphic of illicit illustrations you’d seen in your lifetime.

He’d created a lady out of common opera singer, and now a whore out of a lady.

Trying to banish that thought from your brain, you closed your eyes. There was no way to shut out the sensation, though. It was too direct and too much, maddening as it built and built and built within you, helplessly rushing you to come again. For him. For Ferdinand. Despite everything he’d said or done, despite the fact that you had no idea if you wanted this. You did now. His groans vibrated against your back, a lower complement to your own. He was so warm, so insistent. It was impossible to stop yourself, a helpless realization that came right at the cusp of giving into the pressing pleasure.

You came hard and fast under his feverishly quick touch, your muscles locking and your mouth falling open, your thighs stretching wide to give him better access.

It was almost more intense like this, if for no other reason than because your body was so sensitized to the feeling, greedily clenching around his fingers and pushing into the touch. So good you couldn’t stand it, so good that it left you boneless and breathless and floating.

“I… I know I said that it would stop here, but perhaps it would not be so bad if we were to go further?” Ferdinand muttered, only half a question. His words were like water to your mind, slipping over and off while you were still caught in the throes of pleasure. “After all, you are more than ready a-and… we are already promised to one another. So it does not truly matter, does it?” You hummed in response, a satiated noise as he pulled his hand from between your legs. Ferdinand let out a heavy, relieved breath, one that trembled with strain and desire. “I will set to making the proper arrangements so we may be wed as soon as possible, tomorrow, if you would like!”

That, finally, caught your attention. “Huh?” you asked, drawn back into reality by that excitable promise, confused and sweaty as you came down.

“There might be some discomfort,” he said against your neck, apologetically. Ignoring your question. “It is unfortunately unavoidable.”

“Wait, Ferdinand…” you said, your discomfort growing.

“But it should not persist!” he said in a non-answer, acting as if he didn’t feel you squirming against him. “And I vow to make up for it as many times as it takes for you to forget the pain.”

Pain. You didn’t really, truly connect the dots until you had to shift so he could get his belt undone, not bothering to take off his pants in favor of pushing them down his thighs. Just enough to free his erection.

“What are you doing?” you asked. Too satiated to feel panic in the way you needed to feel it, too hot to deny the way you almost craved the idea of more. He was right when he said you were ready, you had been ready for a while now, hadn’t you?

“It is okay,” he said calmingly. “Please, just relax. There is no reason to be afraid.”

“We should wait, didn’t you say that?” you asked.

“It might be easier if you fold your legs beneath you,” Ferdinand said, acting as if he didn’t hear you. He pushed you forward and up and you clumsily did as he indicated, landing on your knees over his lap. Your hands were shaking, your heart racing, pounding. Everything seemed to be swaying, your head dizzy and light and legs rubbery. Confliction froze you in place. You didn’t fight, didn’t argue. Just watched in the mirrored reflection. “There, just like that. This is okay, is it not?”

“Oh-kay…” Was all you said. Stupidly, dumbly. Was it okay? You wanted it. Wanted him. You were sickly fascinated with the idea of what it would feel like to go all the way. Ferdinand had a hand around his cock, holding it steady against your entrance and you couldn’t deny the part of yourself that was interested, that was aching for more.

The last thing you thought was that this wasn’t real, that it couldn’t possibly be real. Then he pulled you down onto his lap, pushing his own hips upward to drive his cock into your aching hole. Your body tensed up in a panic, but you were wet enough that it didn’t matter, only taking a firm thrust to fill you entirely, your skin slapping lewdly against his.

It was too much. If he wasn’t holding you by the hips, you would have tried to get away, to alleviate the pinching pressure. His fingers hadn’t actually done much at all to prepare you for what it would feel like to take him all the way, the visual alone was incomparably different.

“Look at how your body naturally yields to mine,” Ferdinand said, a tremor of excitement edging his tone in discordant harmony to your own conflicting thoughts and feelings. “It is like you were made for me, is it not?”

Ferdinand’s hand, shaking ever so slightly, dropped to your pelvis, laying flat between your hip bones. Seemingly fascinated by the sight reflected before you, he pressed his palm down. The pressure made you unconsciously tighten around him, and Ferdinand’s hips jerked into the sensation, pulling a gasping yelp from your mouth because even the minute movement resulted in more of that aching, stretching sensation. Just like that, he had conclusively demonstrated that your bodies were joined, melded, every action of one forcing a reaction from the other. Pain was not the only thing you felt, there was a pleasure in it. Fulfillment created out of something utterly wrong, of out discomfort. He called it natural, even if the feeling was anything but.

This was real.

“I do not wish to hurt you,” Ferdinand muttered, his voice forced and low in an attempt to maintain control over himself. “It is… We will take it slow, all right? Here, let me show you…” Ferdinand’s hands dropped to your hips, guiding you upward. It was the worst kind of obscene, but you couldn’t help but watch as you pulled off of him. His cock was wet with your arousal, streaked with blood. Your breath came out staccato and wild.

A fleeting memory popped into your head. Years and years and years ago when you first found blood in your underwear, your mother sat you down and told you that blood made you a woman. That the goddess’s role for you as a woman was stained with the scarlet viscera of human life.

Ferdinand guided your hips back down and the pinching, fullness was just as intense. A soft whine left your mouth in protest at the same time as his open moan. “Hurts,” you told him in objection. Not that you did anything about it. Even like this, in a position of relative power over Ferdinand, he was the one leading you, keeping you with him. Because it was okay. It was natural. This was the role the goddess herself had given to you, the role that Ferdinand wanted for you. It was all right.

“The discomfort should,” he said, laboring to get the words out, “it should pass soon enough. You must… please, relax.” You didn’t want to, you couldn’t, but you didn’t tell him that. Ferdinand’s breathing was unsteady and sharp, his chest heaving. He pushed the excess fabric of your nightdress upwards, forcing it up and off and exposing your sweaty, hot skin to the equally warm air of your room. Then he kissed you. Your shoulder, your neck, his hands sliding up over your stomach to palm your bared breasts. Steadily and slowly, he continued to manipulate you up and down, looking over your shoulder to watch the obscene double of the two of you. 

He was right, the discomfort did fade as your inner muscles were loosened to the blunt intrusion of his cock. You became accustomed to the fullness and the ache. Because it felt good. Because you were sensitive, sensitized by everything he’d already done, your body singing for him. And it was Ferdinand, moaning for you, touching you, fucking you. 

You pulled one of your knees forward somewhat, giving yourself more leverage to experimentally meet his upward thrusts. It was tiring, testing more muscles than you’d have expected, but Ferdinand rewarded you with a loud, honest moan that had you shaking, dizzy with lust. His hand returned between your legs, rubbing your clit to the time set by the rhythmic meeting of your hips, the skin slapping, and a fresh flood of your arousal causing this sort of wet squelching that was all at once disgusting and insanely hot.

This was all so very, incredibly wrong. But you weren’t going to stop. You could have. If you opened your eyes and looked into that dark reflection, you’d see that you were more than capable of simply getting up and leaving. But you didn’t. You just watched yourself bob up and down on top of his dick, your body yielding to his, hungrily accepting the intrusion. Wanting more, more and more and more. This was all right. This was good, even.

The muscles in your thighs and stomach were really starting to tremble and burn when he suddenly pulled you off of him, twisting both of you around so you were more or less splayed across your bed with him hovering over you. Like before, only now your breathing was harsh and frantic, your skin prickling with sweat and heat and body pulsing with a dull, heavy need for more.

“H-hey!” you got out, panicked and hot and awkward as he manipulated you into the new position.

“Oh, have I hurt you?” Ferdinand asked, freezing, his eyes darting around your face in search of whatever it was that caused your panic.

“No, but why…?”

“I find it quite… quite vexing that I couldn-not clearly see your face. Your radiance demands to be admired directly, to do anything else would be a… a blasphemy,” he said. You stared up at him blankly, too dazed to be amused by the theatrics. Ferdinand frowned. “Is this… This is okay, is it not?”

The question threw you off all over again. What did you say? Yes? You couldn’t. So you just nodded, knowing that he would fill in the gaps of your silence regardless. And you knew that was the right choice because he smiled. Despite the relative coherency of his words, he was lost in the wildness. His cheeks were dyed pink, his eyes bright and excited as he kicked off his pants and quickly shed his buttoned shirt to the floor. You couldn’t help but admire Ferdinand’s body in the second before he was on top of you. He had a narrow build, but muscle made his arms and chest and legs firm and solid. Even his skin was perfect and smooth, save for a scattering of pale scars and a spray of freckles across his shoulders. That lovely mane of strawberry blond curls got tossed over his back, but the few shorter pieces remained to frame his face.

“Yes…” Ferdinand murmured, rubbing his hands soothingly across your thighs as he spread them apart, “Your beauty is… It is unparalleled, it is-” Then he pushed back into you without any of the gentleness he had tried so desperately to maintain before, moaning loudly, openly, without any embarrassment, his body giving out to be supported on his elbows. A veil of his hair enclosed the both of you on one side.

This time, there wasn’t much pain. The position made the sensation different, though. More intensive, in a way. Or maybe that was just because he was hovering over you, around you, caging you in and rendering you helpless to his lust. Well, even more helpless. And it felt good. Being touched had felt good, but this was _different_. Everything was _different_. It was because it was intensive, because you had no control, unable to do anything other than accept what he gave you.

Without mercy, his cock dragged roughly along your inner walls, driving deep and targeting a shockingly sensitive place that made your toes curl. You could feel the muscles of your pussy greedily tighten around him, desperate for more of that feeling, your knees pulling up so you could keep that angle.

“Fer-din-and,” you said, breaking his name to pieces with your heaving voice, speaking it in a high, breathless voice you’d never heard before. Your hands grasped at his freckled shoulders, his long, soft hair. It smelled of his sweat and whatever soap he used to wash it, an intoxicating mixture of musk and flowers.

He groaned, his hands on your hips, your thighs, your face, restless and needful. “To hear... you say m-my name fills me with such bliss it defies.. defies words… reason itself falls to ruin when you are so near,” Ferdinand told you, his voice heavily affected by pleasure. He was moving faster, rhythmically, frantically. Each time he drove his cock into you, it was with a sloppy wet sound, the undeniable evidence of your arousal. “The spell you… you have cast upon me is… I can-cannot bear it! It.. It is-”

His words cut off with a grunt and Ferdinand finally gave up speaking. Instead, he kissed you, his lips clumsy and tongue searching. You weren’t even sure if you kissed back—if you could kiss back with the way that everything was rolling over you, overwhelming your body and mind into a million little shards of sensation. You were pretty sure he was close to coming, his body coiling tight and the moans he was so unashamed of filling your ears, fed directly into your mouth.

But then Ferdinand’s hips stuttered and slowed, his hips snapping flush to yours and freezing. He pulled away from the kiss, his eyes closed and a low groan vibrating in his chest as it heaved with air. You hadn’t felt him come. You thought that it was something you’d have felt, or at least noticed from his reactions.

“Are you... okay?” you asked quietly.

“I… must pace myself,” he told you without opening his eyes, his voice stiff and forced. “I did not realize how rapturous the sensation would be, I-I...I would... would very much l-like to see you come a-again before I succumb to my own pleasure.”

Your chest clenched. No, you were pretty sure your entire body clenched, if the way that Ferdinand’s hips jumped against yours was any indication. “No,” you told him, even knowing that you wouldn’t have a choice in the matter, “I-I can’t.”

“You can,” Ferdinand told you, opening his eyes to meet yours. “I am quite sure of it. So…” He readjusted your body, getting your knees onto his shoulders. You gasped, choking back a moan when he experimentally thrust into you. The position allowed for some pressure on your clit. Not intense or focused like before, but it didn’t need to be. Not when he was exploiting that spot inside of you relentlessly. Ferdinand’s expression went from strained to smiling, his flushed face lighting up with pride.

He never had been one to give up when he set his mind to something.

No matter what you thought about it, your body was more than happy to take this pleasure, to tighten around his cock as the hot coil of tension in your core became more and more intense. You’d been more or less on your way to coming anyway before, but now it was a forgone conclusion.

“Beautiful,” he breathed. “You… you must be a-a divine creature sent from the heavens by… by the goddess herself. You must be. My... angel, ” He trailed off with a delirious kind of laugh. It was all air and exuberance and the hard, rhythmic cadence of each thrust of his hips.

And you were reeling, lost. The fact that he didn’t stop was intense, too intense and too much. But you didn’t have the words to tell him that, you didn’t have any words at all, just your weak, trembling limbs that you locked around him in an attempt for stability and a frantic, racing heart that pumped out a drumbeat in your skull. And ultimately, it didn’t matter that you couldn’t protest anyway. Your pain, your fear, and your pleas for him to stop would only be accepted through the filter of a man who had already made up his mind about what you were, what was okay and what you wanted.

“I love you,” Ferdinand said. Softly, at first, his voice labored with strain and eyes demanding you meet their adoration. He was always so easy to read. Especially now, clouded by lust and need and unraveling. He loved you honestly and truly, and you loved him. Not that you could find the words to say so. He didn’t seem to care, continuing to ramble mindlessly, “Yes, I… My love, my… my sweet, p-precious darling-” Ferdinand’s words, increasingly incomprehensible as he came ever closer to the edge, shuddered apart with a laugh. Delighted, breathless, stuttering with each thrust, he laughed. Tremulous and sweet and genuine. Ferdinand’s mania was, if nothing else, authentic.

“I can’t,” you breathed, you pleaded. “Ferdinand, _please_.” The word was forced and tight, cutting off with a moan to rival his as he kissed you, making your thighs burn in a way that made you very grateful for the flexibility given to you through dance practice. He kissed your lips, your cheeks, nuzzling against your skin in a feverish display of raw affection. And that was it, your eyes closed, a whine leaving your lips because the contrast of his delight with the lower groans vibrating in his chest, the helpless moans he didn’t bother to stifle, was too much. You were not led to accept this pleasure, even if it had been against your will. No, the orgasm was forced into you. Watery and low and shaking and frantic, gushing and helpless and confused as it worked itself out, your inner muscles clamping down around him and your thighs trembling. Your mind shorted it a fizzing flare of perfect heat, every discomfort becoming wonderful to you at that moment.

Ferdinand seemed to take that as permission, speaking in a half-mad crescendo of raspy, rapturous repetition as he lost any and all control of the rhythm his hips slapped against yours, “I love you... I love you… I love you, I love you, I love-!” His voice broke off with a helpless grunt, hips stuttering as he drove his cock deep into you. No more words, just voiceless sounds of need. You were pretty sure you could feel his cum, painting your insides in spastic spurts in time with each jerky, shallow thrust.

He steadied himself then, his eyes closed and body tight as his breathing trembled and heaved. The euphoric bubble of release wasn’t lasting, reality crashing back into your mind all too soon. It was hot. Sweat had beaded on your scalp and your chest. Your thighs ached from the strain of being pinned down. It was hot and uncomfortable and you were so, so tired, like you’d just finished off one of the most difficult performances of your career.

Your eyes opened, shocked to find that Ferdinand was watching you. Searching and adoring, he gazed down at you with aching tenderness. He smiled. “Beautiful,” he breathed. A moment later, he rolled off of you, pulling you close to him without any concern for the sweaty discomfort you felt. Holding you like a doll. “You are perfect,” Ferdinand said dreamily. “As long as I have you, I should never want for anything more.”

He nuzzled his face against the top of your head, keeping you against him with arms too strong for you to fight. Not that you thought you would, you didn’t even try. But they were like a cage nonetheless. You didn’t say anything, caught in the valley between discomfort and exhaustion, lulled by the mindless patterns he was rubbing against your hip.

“I wonder if that was enough for you to get pregnant,” Ferdinand mused. “We must get married quickly. I could not stand for your virtue to be questioned. And after that…” He let out a dreamy, satiated sigh. “We will live the rest of our lives together, just like this.”

It didn’t take long for that to settle in your head, to draw up a new sense of cold panic. When had you ever discussed children? “We can’t...” you began in a breathy, uncertain rasp, feeling wrung out like a dishrag. Heat sick, heart sick. You could feel his cum inside you, oozing out onto your thighs, onto the bedspread beneath you. A _baby_. “We can’t have a _baby_. I-I can’t...” 

Ferdinand went rigid. “What do you mean?”

You pulled out of the cage of his arms, sitting up to look at him. That might have been a mistake. Ferdinand looked saddened by your rejection, his lovely eyes glassy and his eyebrows furrowed. “This is too much…” you tried to explain, pleading with him to understand with a slowly swelling throat. Tears were already forming in your own eyes, embarrassingly enough. The emotions came with the hormones, hitting you all at once in the wake of such extremes. You often cried after performances, too. “This is all... It’s happening too fast…”

“But you will stay with me, will you not?” Ferdinand asked, trying to pull you back into his embrace. You resisted, squirming in discomfort. Taking your silence and lack of cooperation as answer enough, he stopped, sitting up to look you directly in the eye. “I need you,” Ferdinand said. “Can you not see that? Have I not proven it? I could not possibly live my life without you at my side. I would have no desire to live such a hollow life! Now that I know what it is to have you, your absence would destroy my very soul…” He shook his head, his expression drawn in pain.

“Ferdinand…” you said, feeling cold. Feeling hot. Feeling _sick_. You loved him, you loved him so _much_. But even so...

He looked up, something frightening and determined blazing in his lovely eyes. “If you leave me, I will die.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ferdinand is a fun yandere. I hope you enjoyed this checklist of my most basic kinks. 
> 
> If you did, SMASH that kudos button, COMMENT your most poggers moment of the story, and SUBSCRIBE for more DEGENERATE CONTENT from yours truly


End file.
